


The First in Light

by write_away



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Adoptive family, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Damien gets some hecking love, Family, Gen, I'M TRYING OK??, It's the only way to make this work guys they have to meet somewhere in the middle, Slightly more well-adjusted Damien, fire imagery, it was in here before the neon darkness excerpt came out istg, just let damien get some hecking love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23709436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_away/pseuds/write_away
Summary: One month after fourteen year-old Robert Gorham sends his parents packing, he sets his still-empty house alight. He knows he's a freak, but he still never expected to end up at a facility full of people like him to be watched and monitored -  he's not used to consequences.What heisused to is getting his way, so when the opportunity strikes for him to get out under the supervision of another patient, he takes it. Vanessa Turner is the complete opposite of what he expects a parent to be, and her young daughter Chloe is literally the sister he never wanted, but he takes what he can get. Eventually, he knows, he'll get what he wants - freedom.
Relationships: Chloe Turner & Vanessa Turner, Damien & Chloe Turner, Damien & Vanessa Turner, Turner Family - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! In honor of the cover/first excerpt of A Neon Darkness being released today, I thought I would share the prologue of what I have mentally dubbed "Damien gets some hecking love." Enjoy!

Ashes denote that Fire was —

Revere the Grayest Pile

For the Departed Creature's sake

That hovered there awhile —

Fire exists the first in light

And then consolidates

Only the Chemist can disclose

Into what Carbonates.

-Emily Dickinson

* * *

They leave and they don’t come back. 

At first, it’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s wonderful, actually, to watch the car back out of the driveway, to wave with a cheeky smile as they retreat, to be alone for once. 

Robert figures he has about an hour or two before their anger wears off and they return to whisper about his freakishness. He’ll take what he can get. He rummages through the pantry for the candy he knows his mom keeps stashed and grabs the new VHS of X-Men that his dad doesn’t want him to watch and settles on the couch for an afternoon of getting exactly what he wants. 

The sun sets. They don’t return. 

Robert watches the movie a second time, then a third. He finishes the candy, polishes off the leftover lasagna in the fridge, and pokes around his dad’s night table in search of some cash so he can order a pizza. 

He tries not to think about how the drawers are bare, as if they’d packed up everything of value and taken it with them. It’s impossible, he knows - they were all in the living room shouting at each other one second, and then in the driveway pulling away the next - but...

His mom had always said to be prepared for anything. 

He guesses that includes their son being a freak.

He tries not to feel too angry at the notion. He knows what he is. He knows there’s something deeply wrong with him, inside him, about him. He doesn’t have too many friends - it’s like the other kids at school  _ know _ that he’s different, like they  _ know  _ that he’s broken, so they avoid him as to not get cut by his shards - and even the few he’s clung onto over the years stick around with an uneasy grace. 

_ Pity _ , he sometimes thinks, and there’s a curdling feeling inside his stomach. He doesn’t want friends out of pity.

It’s a good thing it’s summer, he decides, because he can stay at home and pretend that it’s fine. It’s  _ fine.  _ Really. It is.

The thing is that eventually he gets tired of convincing pizza delivery guys that he doesn’t need to pay, and he polishes off the last of the canned food in the house, and the water shuts down, and so does the power, and he  _ is  _ angry. 

He can’t deny it any longer, not once he punches the mirror in his parents’ bathroom and watches it shatter around him as if in slow motion. He hardly feels the pain splinter across his fist, barely notices the smear of red that he leaves on his cheek when he wipes his cheeks dry. He is filled to the brim with hurt and anger and nothing else at all.

When his powers first emerged, he often dreamed about meeting someone else like him. He pictured what it would be like - him and all the other freaks together, like a family maybe, or at least friends - and they would welcome him with open arms. Not with scowls and glares of distrust. Not with whispers. 

Now, he thinks if he met them, he’d just punch them in the face.

He lets the glass crunch beneath his sneakers and sets out to find a match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, the fire was written long before today's excerpt. First chapter to come shortly!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you think :)


	2. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: Robert knows what he wants. Agent Green is easy enough to manipulate.  
> Featuring: a tape recorder, early 2000s snacks, and nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading. Enjoy!
> 
> CW: brief reference to gun violence (details in end-notes)

When Robert was nine, he decided he no longer wanted to be tucked into bed at night. Just like that, he was never tucked in again.

It stung. 

He hadn’t spoken this aloud. He knew he could say things and people would _do them,_ that this wasn’t normal, but his father always called him a charmer and his mother always said he had a way with words, so he thought that maybe, just _maybe_ keeping his desires to himself, he could protect those precious moments.

It seemed that his freakishness was getting more powerful, though, because as his mother approached the threshold to say goodnight, he couldn’t help thinking about how Jimmy Gordon had called him a sissy during recess for admitting that his mother still told him stories at bedtime. 

His mother flinched so hard that it looked like she had been slapped. She said goodnight from a distance and walked away.

Goddamn Jimmy Gordon. He never figured out how to take it back, but he did make Jimmy Gordon pay. Nobody ever found out the truth about why Jimmy was expelled, but Robert clings to the memory just like the guilt clings to him. He imagines it sometimes when he closes his eyes - the sunny day on the playground, the cocky grin on Jimmy’s face when he confessed that he found the key to his dad’s gun storage, the horrible feeling building in Robert’s gut as he spun a tale, a dare, a _desire…_

He didn’t want anyone hurt. He was so clear about that. He _never_ wanted anyone hurt. He just wanted Jimmy to be punished for what he made him do.

Flashes, screams, sirens melt together and it’s _wrong,_ it’s not what he wanted, it’s not what he _said,_ and he always gets what he wants so why - how - _no._

He wakes with a start and is shocked to find that he is tucked in so tightly with a blanket that his flailing limbs only serve to tangle it and prolong his confusion as he shouts and twists and sweats in an unfamiliar bed. Finally, he rips the sheets away, tossing them to a blue tiled floor with a frustrated scream as pinprick tears sting his eyes. 

It takes a few moments for his breathing to settle, for his heartbeat to steady as he resets the memory in his mind.

Jimmy never hurt anyone. He never even took the weapon out of his backpack before Robert whispered a tip to the teacher and he was hauled off to the office. There is no blood on Robert’s hands.

 _Yet,_ a traitorous part of his brain hisses at him, and isn’t it funny how he can control other people’s minds but not his own?

He takes a deep breath and tries to assess the situation. The last thing he can remember is the sharp _crack_ of wood as foundations crumbled around him, the heat of a flame too close, a siren that has come too late to save him from himself and now… he’s here. 

He doesn’t really believe in Heaven, but if this is it, it’s really fucking lame. There are no windows in this room, just a metal door that slides right into the wall, and a small camera installed in the corner that has its lens trained studiously on him. He stares back at it defiantly, wondering if he can somehow make it turn away.

It does not.

The cot he’s on is worn and thin, and the blanket on the floor looks scratchy, and he’s only barely wrapped his mind around the fact that he’s in a hospital gown, that there are bandages wrapped up and down his body and that his skin _stings_ like the worst sunburn he’s ever had, that he was _tucked into bed_ for the first time in five years when the metal door swings open with a _bang._

The man in the doorway is severe, grim, and very gray. It’s not just his hair, but his suit, his clipboard, and his tie as well. Robert feels a bit like he’s staring at a wall of concrete. Behind him is a nervous-looking young man with a rumpled white shirt and a shock of red hair. He has a tape recorder clutched so tightly in his hand that his knuckles have gone white.

Robert hurriedly pulls the blankets up and around him, his brain not entirely in operating order yet, and glares at the intruders. “I want to know where I am,” he demands and tries to pull his desires to the forefront of his brain, tries his hardest to push it out. “And then I want you to let me go.”

The gray man’s mouth just twists into a smirk. “Hm. A mind manipulator, then. They weren’t completely sure what you were when they brought you in, but that certainly _feels_ interesting... You’re very green, though. Not very good at this yet. Ah.” He pauses and turns to the red-haired man, “That reminds me, Agent. Take note - when he has you at his mercy, it’s not _entirely_ because you are a pushover.”

The agent looks nervous. “And you’ll be in the control room?” he asks. The way they’re looking at Robert makes his skin crawl - like he’s a specimen, an experiment, a _freak_. A new rage feels like it’s boiling up in him, a kettle on its way to a shriek, and he vaguely wonders what it will take to make the gray man get down on his knees and apologize.

For just a second, he thinks he sees the man’s legs twitch. 

Then he walks away without another word. 

The agent closes the door behind him and clicks the tape recorder on with a slam of his thumb. “Um. Hi. I’m going to -” He gestures at the recorder vaguely. “And then - yeah. Questions? Before I start?”

Robert draws the blankets closer. He is giving this man _nothing._

The agent nods and clears his throat. “Um. Ok, then. Uh. This is Agent Owen Green recording an intake session with patient E-287. Do you - do you want to say your name for the record?” Green tilts to recorder toward Robert as if he’s doing him a favor.

Robert clenches his jaw, thinking about how to make this work. “No,” he says firmly. “Keep talking. Tell me where I am. Tell me what this is. Tell me who you are and what you want with me. Tell me _everything._ You know you want to.”

Agent Green swallows thickly and his eyes glaze over just a little. “Right. Um. Robert Gorham is what the police said when they turned you over to us. Parents were gone - well, we found them, actually. They wouldn’t tell us much, though - I mean, that’s what Annabelle said. Director Rostova is having us do a lot of the research on your case - we’re new - I mean - we’re not _new-new,_ we’re just the _newest,_ I guess, it’s been a few months at least, but Ellie has been _really_ into this case, I don’t know why she’s not in here right now, and -” He cuts himself off abruptly and blinks the blankness out of his eyes. _"_ _Oh,_ that was strange. Director Rostova is right. Very interesting ability. And you’re very young for an atypical this developed.”

“A _what?_ ” Robert can’t help the exclamation from slipping out. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

Agent Green blinks again, wide-eyed behind his glasses. “You’re also a bit young for that type of language. Aren’t you fourteen?”

Robert snorts. “And what are you? Twenty?”

“Twenty-four,” Agent Green mutters, and shifts his eyes away, like he hadn’t meant to say that. He might not have. Robert isn’t always sure what he wants and when it works.

Either way, he knows he has the upper hand. “You called me an atypical. Tell me what that is,” he orders. He does his best not to choke on the word _atypical_. For some reason, it stings more than freak. There’s something clinical about the term, something distant. 

Agent Green nods. “Um. Of course. An atypical - so what you are - is an individual with abilities that the average population does not - for instance, telekinesis or - or super-strength.” He clears his throat and nods vaguely in Robert’s direction without looking at him. “Or mind manipulation. Like I said, your ability is impressive for someone so young. Do you plan to use it again on me?”

“Why?” Robert can’t help but be suspicious. “Do you _want_ me to?”

Agent Green hesitates. “Well. No. That felt a bit invasive,” he admits, and he actually sounds apologetic about that. Robert immediately distrusts him. “I’m more than willing to tell you what you want to know. But in my experience, young atypicals often struggle with controlling when and how their abilities manifest, so. I’m prepared.”

Robert remains silent for a moment. The room is cold, and he’s beginning to realize how his body aches. His lungs feel tired and his stomach clenches around nothing. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here. He still doesn’t even know where _here_ is. All he knows is that people don’t lock freaks - _atypicals_ \- up in rooms without windows if they are not a danger to others.

He never wanted to hurt anyone.

Despite this, Agent Green smiles kindly at him. “You’re hungry, aren’t you?”

“My power tell you that, huh?” Robert’s voice sounds numb even to himself. He collapses back on the cot, suddenly exhausted and cold and empty. 

“No. Well, a little.” The tape recorder clicks off. “I can practically hear your stomach, though. How about I get you some lunch and then we can talk?”

Robert leans up on one elbow and frowns, taking Agent Green in. He looks younger than Robert expected a twenty-four year old to look, but he guesses he doesn’t spend much time around people who aren’t parents or kids. His hair is a disaster, his tie has a coffee stain on it, and he’s _definitely_ too low on the command chain to be giving a shit about random freaks in locked rooms. He doesn’t trust this earnestness, though. He wonders what it says about him that he can’t. 

“Something sealed,” he decides. “Not from this place. I want a label from a store. I don’t want that other guy tampering with shit. Then, I’ll answer whatever the hell you want me to.”

Agent Green pockets the tape recorder and pushes his glasses up with his thumb. “Deal.”

* * *

An hour later, Agent Green brings back a plastic shopping bag with a Fun Fuel Lunchable, Dunkaroos, a box of Capri Sun that he allows Robert to open himself, and the receipt. 

At the bottom of the bag is a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and a soft cotton t-shirt. Robert pulls them on gratefully, shivering out of the hospital gown as he slurps up an entire juice pouch in one sip and settles back on the cot with the Dunkaroos to listen to what Green has to say as the tape recorder is clicked on. 

It’s… a lot to take in.

Robert isn’t sure how he feels about learning that he’s being held by an agency called the Atypical Monitors, at least not any more sure than he is about being called atypical, but at least it’s an answer. He’s given more information on atypicals than he thinks he can absorb - the history, the science, the theories - but he sits and tries to stay focused anyway. He needs to know who else is like him. He needs to know how to fix it. He needs to know how to get _out._

He can make it on his own, he knows he can. Once he gets the hang of this power for real, he’ll be _golden_ and there will never be anyone who he can hurt again. He just needs to be patient and figure out the right opportunity.

He is not good at being patient.

Agent Green eventually explains that he actually belongs to the Boston facility - and the fact that there are places like this all over the country makes Robert’s gut twist and twist uneasily - but that Director Rostova and he flew out to LA just to meet him.

He thinks he’s supposed to be honored. He is not.

“We’ve been looking for an atypical with abilities like yours for a while,” Agent Green says off-hand, and it’s the answer to a question that Robert only wondered: _why me?_ “Mind manipulators and pyrotechnics, actually - with your situation, we weren’t sure which it was at first. But between the whole - parent - _thing_ and the house fire, we thought we had a good chance.”

“So, you’re taking me back to Boston?” He’s on his second package of Dunkaroos at this point, and he wonders if Agent Green is going to try to tell him to eat his meal instead of dessert. 

Agent Green just gestures that Robert has a little frosting on his face. “That’s up to Director Rostova,” he says.

“What happens if I stay here? Do I have to stay in _here?_ ” Robert has only been awake for a few hours in this room, but he’s already tired of these four walls. There is no way he’ll be able to get free if they keep him cooped up in here. “Or do I get to go out? Do I get to meet other - other people like me?”

Another shrug. “I really don’t know, Robert. I’m sorry. I - I don’t know how this facility operates Tier Five. That’s - well. That’s where we put… dangerous atypicals.”

Robert’s blood runs cold. “And I’m… dangerous.” He knows this, he guesses. He doesn’t like it being said so frankly, though. He can’t bring himself to look at Agent Green, so he fiddles with the Capri Sun straw wrapper instead. 

“You burned down a house.”

Robert ignores that. “And if I come with you? Will I be on Tier Five then, too?”

He doesn’t know if he can handle being in a basement forever, being stuck in a _hole_ where people think he’s dangerous and only send people in who are scared to look him in the eye. He doesn’t trust that they’ll ever let him see sunlight again in here. Boston is his best bet right now.

He doesn’t trust Agent Green either, but… better the devil he knows can be bent to his will.

“You do know that this isn’t a _choice_ for you, right?” Agent Green looks toward the camera in the corner desperately as if begging for help. “You don’t get to decide. We do.”

Robert waits. He’s not a very patient person, but he waits. 

Green presses his palms against his eyes and makes a soft groaning noise. “All right. Ok. Fine. Listen. I can’t - I can’t guarantee anything. But I think… I think I could make a case for Tier Three for you. You didn’t - nobody got hurt, yeah? Besides you. And - you’re just a kid. You just need therapy.” He peeks out from between his fingers. “Yeah. A lot of that. So, Tier Three, maybe. Some experiments with Rostova to help you gain control over your ability so that you don’t - do _this_ , I know you’re doing it, Robert, you’re not very subtle. But - there’s recreation time. And rehabilitation. School, a little, probably.” He curses softly. “Jesus Christ, Ellie is never going to let me hear the end of this.”

Robert passes him a Dunkaroo and tries for his most angelic smile.

He always gets his way eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you thought :) 
> 
> CW: reference to gun violence (As a young child, Damien dared a classmate to bring a gun to school in revenge. No violence occurs in real life, but Damien has a nightmare where the weapon was used and people were hurt because of his actions.)


End file.
